


Two Fifty-One

by Gairid



Category: Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 09:23:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12273543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gairid/pseuds/Gairid
Summary: Celebrating Louis's 251st birthday





	Two Fifty-One

**Two Fifty-One**

_251 years walking the earth. Happy Birthday, Louis!_

I heard Brian come in through the front door followed by the sound of him taking the stairs two at a time – I stepped into the hallway to see why he seemed in such a violent hurry. He’d brought in the mail, fetched from the post office a few blocks down the street. Among the mass of catalogs (Lestat still preferred browsing through print catalogs), advertising and letters, there was a small parcel.

“Is Lestat back yet?” he asked, looking about uneasily.

“No. What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s from Armand,” he said, handing me the package. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper and the writing was Armand’s

I pursed my lips and pinched the bridge of my nose. “He does like to stir things up,” I muttered, even as we heard the door open below. Lestat, of course.

“Oh my God,” Brian said, snatching the package from my hand and looking about wildly. He dropped the parcel on the sofa and covered it with the rest of the mail. His haste caused a minor avalanche when the pile of catalogs took that moment to slide off onto the floor. He tended to overreact when it came to Armand but then again, so did Lestat, even though there was a nominal peace between them. Brian was gathering them up and tossing them back on the sofa just as Lestat made his entrance.

“Happy Birthday, my darling!” In the crook of his arm, he held a rather large, beautifully wrapped gift. He drew me close with his free hand and kissed me sweetly.

“You didn’t have to buy a gift, Lestat,” I said as he steered me to the sofa and placed the large gift on the low table before me. The weight, as well as the tell-tale scent of old ink and paper, told me it was a set of books. Lestat’s barely concealed excitement told me he’d found something he was convinced I would like. 

“You say that every year,” he said indulgently, sitting down beside me. On my other side, several pieces of mail slid back onto the floor. Before he could make the dive he was clearly preparing for, I spoke. “Brian, just leave it, _cher_. You can sort through it later, yes?”

“Right. Right,” he murmured.

“Yes, please sit down, Brian,” Lestat said impatiently. Brian did as he was asked with a last wary glance at the mail.

In keeping with the tradition of making certain that Lestat would attain maximum agitation, I carefully removed the elaborate ribbon and bow from the package and slit the tape from one end of the package. 

“ _Mon Dieu_ , Louis! It will be your next birthday when you finally remove the wrapping!”  
I gave in, then and drew the gift box from the wrappings. I was right. Books. The scent rose, fabulous and fragile and deeply satisfying. I lifted the lid with unfeigned anticipation.

A set. A perfectly beautiful set, bound in calf, with red Moroccan title labels and gilt edging on the pages. I held my breath a moment. “Ah, Lestat! Molière! How perfectly marvelous! _Les Oeuvres de Monsieur Molière, Reveues, corrigees & augmentees. Enrichies de figures en Taille-douce_.”

“It’s a 1697 reproduction of the original 1682 first edition collection, and in very good shape for the most part,” Lestat said with a good deal of enthusiasm. “A little wear, but the bindings are tight and all the plates are intact. An interesting flaw in volume 5, too…one of the plates is bound in upside down,” The look of pleasure on his face was as much a gift as the set of books. “Do you like it?”

“You know I do. It’s a wonderful find and I thank you for it and for the time and effort I know it took you to seek it out.” I leaned over and kissed his mouth softly.

“Have you read Molière, Brian?” Lestat asked.

I opened the first volume and admired the marbled endpapers as I listened.

“ _Tartuffe_ ,” he said, “When I first came here and decided to try and read everything in Louis’s library. I didn’t really follow it too well, but I remember Louis saying it was far better to see it acted. It was an English version, too, so it was probably missing something in translation.”

“You should re-read it. I think you’d get more out of it now,” I said, leafing carefully through the first volume. The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Brian said.

“He seems on edge,” Lestat remarked.

From below came a familiar voice. “Well, hello, Brian. Long time no see, hm? Is Louis about?”

Lestat’s eyes narrowed for a moment and then his brow smoothed. “Well, Louis, it seems you have a visitor, come to wish you many happy returns of the day.” He rose and stepped into the hall to greet our guest.

“Armand!” Lestat cried in jocular tones. “How wonderful to see you! You’ve come to see Louis on his birthday, I have no doubt.” They entered the parlour, Lestat with his arm familiarly around Armand’s shoulders. Brian came in behind them, his face neutral. He was trying with all his might to keep his mind a perfect blank, but failing miserably.

For my part, I was resigned to the situation and in spite of a certain glint in Lestat’s eye, he appeared to have himself under complete control. This could mean many things, but I chose not to dwell on it. I rose to greet Armand. He took a cue from Lestat and put his arms around my neck and bestowing a more or less chaste kiss upon my lips.

“Let me guess. You just happened to be in the neighborhood.” I said.

He gave me disarming grim. “Something like that. I thought I might as well stop by to wish you a Happy Birthday in person. Since I was in the neighborhood, you know. Did you get my gift?”

“I haven’t gone through the mail. Brian only brought it in just a little while ago.”

Armand turned to Brian and gave him a pointed look. Brian gave a little shrug. “Mail’s on the sofa. Lestat came in with his gift for Louis, so…” he smiled winningly at Armand.

“No harm done,” Lestat said lightly. “Here it is,” he tossed it to me. “Go ahead, my love. Let’s see what Armand sent you. Though really, you could just as well have brought it by...seeing as you were in the neighborhood.” His expression was perfectly pleasant and so was his tone, but Armand heard the implied sneer beneath and he smiled widely.

Brian meanwhile had become increasingly anxious. Perhaps he was thinking of the Battle of the Birthday Gifts that had gone for several years when Armand and Lestat had engaged in trying to outdo one another, giving me increasingly ridiculous gifts that included some of the most hideous jewelry I’d ever seen and if that wasn’t bad enough, five years of putting up with their cat-fighting had grown increasingly tiresome. It came to a halt in the sixth year when I decided to make myself scarce on my birthday. A week later I gave in and answered my phone and a contrite Lestat assured me he was done with that particular game. No excuses, no accusations of motive, either mine or Armand’s. I had no motive and if Armand did, other than to get under Lestat’s skin, I didn’t know what it might be. 

I held Armand’s gift, looking at him and trying to divine what was going on beneath his tranquil countenance. A few moments went by and I removed the brown paper wrapping. Lestat stepped behind Armand and ran his fingers through the auburn curls. A game? Oh, yes, but a different game, wasn’t it? The box I held in my hand was made of blond maple, smoothly polished so the beautiful grain showed beneath glossy, clear lacquer. I opened it and inside there was something wrapped in the folds of rich, red silk. I removed the fabric and placed the box on the table behind me. “What is it?”

“You’ll have to look at it, won’t you?” Armand batted at Lestat’s hand half-heartedly, clearly torn between wanting to strangle him or drag him off to bed. I understood that completely, but I didn’t think this would be the time to commiserate on it. Instead, I unfolded the bright silk to find a deck of Gath & Chaves playing cards still in the box. The cards were old.

“Do you recognize them?” he asked.

"I have seen a great many playing cards over the years, Armand. However, as you are the one who gave them to me, I can hazard a guess. From Clicquot in Atlantic City, perhaps? Or one of Nucky’s other games?”

He smiled, pleased that I’d guessed. My time with Armand had not been wholly disagreeable and by the turn of the twentieth century, I would have characterized the relationship as amicable. We parted company not long after the time spent in Atlantic City. It wasn’t something we’d discussed, it was just something that happened, for amicable or not, there had been too much time fraught with my despair and his deceptions. I am wary of him still; I never did have a good grasp of his motivations.

“Thank you. I had no idea you were sentimental to this degree.” I smiled to pull most of the sting from my words and he acknowledged this with a smile of his own.

Lestat had become impatient with the moment; he has never been comfortable with the time I’d spent with Armand. "Perhaps we can play a game with your sentimental gift. Truth or Dare between hands? Winner gets to challenge.”

“I would prefer to forego the Truth or Dare, but I wouldn’t mind a poker night,” I said somewhat forcefully. The night had remained civil for a change and I preferred it that way. “We’ll play the first hand in honor of Nucky Johnson.” 

Brian headed toward the room that took up most of the floor in the adjoining flat. We used it used it as a recreational space; Lestat had indulged himself there with state of the art home theater sumptuousness, gaming units, a corner devoted to musical evenings when he was in the mood for that...you get the idea. There was also a games table for card-playing and other older type games. Brian had introduced us to Risk, and at this time there was a nearly 6-weeks game still in progress. He wanted to move it himself before anything was disturbed.

The doorbell rang and Brian stopped in mid-stride. “Go on, “ Lestat told him. “I’ll get it.”

“That’ll be Daniel,” Armand said. 

“Here to keep an eye on you, little fiend.” 

“No doubt," Armand said as they jostled one another through the door into the hallway. I was left alone in the parlour, the playing cards in one hand and a lurking warm happiness in my heart. More jibes traded back and from downstairs, Daniel adding his voice and confirming the rare feeling of camaraderie.

“Come on, birthday boy," Brian called from the next room. “God, it’s too bad you guys don't eat. I could go for pizza or something right now.”

“Happy Birthday to me.” I said softly.

FIN


End file.
